


The Worst Is Yet To Come

by flash0flight



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: AU, Budapest, Headcanon, Post-Budapest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 11:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flash0flight/pseuds/flash0flight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha helps Clint work through the horror and pain left behind from their Budapest mission, and it's no where near as easy as she'd hoped it would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Worst Is Yet To Come

**Author's Note:**

> Again, written for my Hawk. Entirely her idea to have Xavier assist in Clint's recovery, and I loved it and went with it. Still headcanoned. And perfect.

The apartment had become some sort of a blessing for the two assassins. While a life of luxury was not needed to take care of her partner, it sure as hell helped to have overly comfortable surfaces and plenty of resources on hand. Not to mention if they needed a single thing, all she had to do was send word to SHIELD and it would be at their door in the hands of an agent within ten minutes. Fifteen, if they were slow.

Unfortunately, not everything Clint needed could be bought and hauled over by some kid with high hopes for their time in the agency. Some things were only going to take time. And even then, they might never find just what Clint needed.

Some days were worse than others. And that was saying something, considering the agent so rarely had what could be called a good day. Some days, Clint would wake up with a faint spark in his eyes, something reminiscent of the Hawkeye she’d met, the one who had caught her in the dark, an arrow fixed to shoot her right between the eyes. The man who had seen more than a scared, defeated, proud assassin. Sometimes, he wanted to try and stand, to force himself to take a step. Even if it was only a step. Even if he knew it was pointless, that he couldn’t get out of bed let alone try to walk.

On those days, Natasha had more hope. She found herself forgetting about the countdown until her partner’s next medical inspection, until the day that maybe he could be cleared for duty again. All she cared about was the slight sign of light in Clint’s eyes, of the possibility that he was seeing through the red haze they had left him in after Budapest, that he was starting to see the world around him again.

From time to time, he would laugh. Small, broken sounds, fluttering and faltering. But it was a laugh. It was something of his old self. Something Natasha knew he could hold onto, at least for a little while.

And on some days, it didn’t even seem like the man wanted to face the light of day.

He would yell, cry out from rage and pain, screech until Natasha closed the curtains, blocked the sunlight from every room, submerged them in darkness. He was only happy with a candle in each room, one single candle to cast a soft, dim light across them as he gasped and groaned for the pain to go away. As the dark shadows and memories overtook him, chasing him through his own mind, running him through the insanity, the torture, the cleaving, the horrible bloody pain all over again.

On those days, it was all Natasha could do to keep him sane. To hold him, to clasp his hand so tight, despite the fact that it would be slick from sweat, despite the fact that his body was full of twitches and tremors, that his hands would be burning from a fever he couldn’t hold back. To run her fingers through his sweat-drenched hair and whisper to him, to give him something from the present to try and claw his way back to.

Sometimes, he would cry for her, wail her name into the dim light in the room, his hands would scramble across the sheets despite his mangled shoulder, despite the hip that was hardly held together, he would reach for her as far as he could. And she would be there, with the utmost care she would crawl between the sheets beside her partner and let him cling for hours, let him whisper his terrified thoughts into her ear as he had the first day she’d walked into the apartment and found him in a heap on the floor. And when he fell into incoherent babble, when he could only cry from the memories and the pain, when she didn’t know what else to do, Natasha would sing. Something she had not done for years.

Old songs she remembered from her childhood, soft lullabies she would hold onto as a young girl. The few tunes that had carried her through the start of the training she had found herself so lost in. The notes that had given her comfort in the cold nights. One by one, she found herself singing them again to her partner, in soft tones that filled the darkness around them. The steady yellow glow illuminated them both as Clint’s sobs dimmed to whimpers, as the tunes enveloped them both and brought the man some sort of comfort. Something to concentrate on other than the pain, other than the horror in his mind, other than the recollections of a time that had left him beyond broken.

Sleeping was almost as bad as waking, with the man passing into nightmares all too easily. It was all she could do to keep him steady and somewhat unmoving as the horrors plagued him, as he was forced to go through each and every step, each and every cut, each and every inch of pain that he had been forced to endure in Budapest. And with every night of sleep, Natasha was painfully reminded of just how terrifying that bathhouse had been for her partner.

For all she’d seen him face, she’d never heard a scream leave the man quite like those that did in his sleep. Blood curdling, high pitched, broken screams of a man all but ruined, screams that reached her very core. Sounds that she had heard before in her life, but not from an ally. Not from a man she owed her life to. Not from a man she cared for far too much. Natasha knew the kind of agony that brought such a sound from a human being. She knew a man had to be pushed far beyond his limits to sound a scream so insane and utterly destroyed.

And in his dreams, Natasha couldn’t protect him. She couldn’t rouse him from the nightmares, not through the pain medication and the exhaustion. All she could do was hold him, keep him steady, hope to god he didn’t tear his wounds open again, and that he would awaken as soon as possible.

There were days when the man was blank. Empty. Like an old, blank book. Cracked and damaged, faded, but empty. No contents. No emotions. No pain. He would not speak. He hardly seemed to be breathing. Even moving was not an option. It was unsettling; he could go from horrifying agony one day to complete and utter silence the next, not even reacting to his wounds. Not reacting to anything. Natasha would talk, always. In a soft, careful voice. Nothing of importance. Nothing to do with SHIELD, with their work, with anything connected to anything that had done this to him. Nothing even remotely related to the lives that had dropped him into this mess.

Natasha would talk about the world she had seen. The mountains out in the middle of pure, uncontrolled wilderness, stretching on for miles and miles. The snow falling with such ease upon the trees in the most remote depths of Russia. The blistering, sweltering heat of the desserts of Egypt. The packed intensity of cities in Chine, Japan, Singapore. The controlled rush the heart of Berlin. The life she saw throughout the world, spreading through every crack, every gap of the places she had seen. A life that had left her partner, that had been drained away, locked up somewhere until he could find the will to bring himself out. Until he could, she would continue to tell him of all the places she had seen. Despite her life, despite the way she’d lived and the things she’d been forced to do, Natasha had seen more of the world than most could imagine. She had seen things some would never see.

And while Clint couldn’t seem to find life within him, Natasha would use her words to draw him pictures of the life she had seen throughout the world.

Hell was chasing them, it seemed. Determined to swallow Clint up, and take Natasha with him if need be. But the woman had other ideas in mind. It had been a long time since she’d felt this trust. Since she’d been able to place her life in the hands of an ally. She wasn’t going to lose it. Not this time.

\--

“ Y’need to sleep, Nat… “

Clint’s voice was weak, rattling from his throat as his head fell in her direction, his eyes meeting hers. Talking was a good sign. Coherent talking even more so. The woman set down the bottle of medication she’d been checking and moved swiftly to the bedside, never shifting her gaze away from her partner.

“ I’m fine, you’re the one who needs rest. And food, if you can keep it down today. “ She told him with care as she knelt down beside the bed, her red hair falling like a curtain by her face as she rested her arms on the soft surface.

“ Coulson, or Maria… can manage me. Y’need rest. Can’t have m’partner collapsing on me.. can I? “ Natasha had long since learned talking was draining for the man, through the haze brought by his pain and his trauma. The fact that he could handle a conversation was astounding in itself, but Nat was not about to argue about her own wellbeing. Ignoring the exhaustion seeping through her body, she rested a cool hand on Clint’s forehead, not shying away from the burning skin he never seemed to be rid of anymore.

“ You know I’m made of more than that. “ She laughed gently in response, hoping to ease his worry. But his forehead furrowed beneath her hand, his eyes still locked onto hers. Drained and weak, but still determined.

“ You’ve done enough for me, Nat… You’ve done enough… “

The words hit her, throwing her into a momentary daze, and not for the first time she found herself wondering just where she would be had the archer not been sent to kill her. She would no doubt be in the same place, with the same lack of freedom and the same lessons programmed into her mind. She would have no future, no hopes, nothing beyond whatever the next mission was, beyond what she was needed for, beyond what she had been trained for.

She could be dead. She should have been. At the hands of the man before her, no less. He could have been like each and every other assassin she’d escaped from, ruthless and uncaring, harsh, taking the shots as they came. Clint had been the one and only to catch her. And he had been the one and only who had hesitated. Who had seen beyond the Soviet assassin, beyond the Black Widow. Without Clint, she would not have this life. Without Clint, Natasha wouldn’t have had a chance at anything she had now.

There would not be a single day when she had done enough.

“ I dragged you out of that hell, Clint, and I’m gonna drag you out of this one. Understand? “ Her hand found his, gripping tight despite his clammy skin, despite his anxiety and his pain. Despite the doubt that was so astoundingly obvious in his eyes. The fear that, maybe, he wasn’t going to get better. Maybe he wasn’t going to be okay.

But still, she held onto his hand, she moved her fingers through his hair, she talked to him and let him talk, let him cry, let him cling when the pain flared. She was going to get him through this, no matter what it took.

\--

“ I didn’t have a choice, Natasha. You said it yourself; nothing was helping. “

Her gaze turned sharply to her CO as Natasha stopped pacing the length of the room, and despite how Coulson was well known to withstand just about anything he still shrunk back ever so slightly from her venomous expression. The sole reason she was not by Clint’s side as she had been almost constantly was because he was currently being paid a visit by Professor Charles Xavier, the famous telepath and owner of a school specifically for mutant children. It seemed her last report had given Coulson something to worry about.

The man had visited himself, taking the time to talk to them both, pausing on his way out to double check with Natasha just how Clint was really progressing. And she’d had no reason to lie; Coulson was their handler, he had helped her do whatever she’d needed to get her partner home safe. If anyone had a right to know that, really, Clint wasn’t getting better, it was Phil Coulson.

At least, that’s what Natasha had thought. Now, she was questioning her own judgement.

“ We don’t even know this guy, you don’t know what’s going on in there. You have no idea how this could end. “ She spat in frustration as she wrung her fingers together, her eyes turning back to the floor. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t dream of talking to the man in such a way. Coulson had long since earned her respect and admiration, and he knew it. But this was crossing a line, as far as Natasha was concerned. This was her partner, battered and broken, in a room with a man she didn’t know. A man who was well known for his ability to prod around in anyone’s mind with ease.

That alone made Natasha uneasy.

“ You’re overreacting. Listen, Romanoff, Clint’s one of the best guys I’ve ever trained. I’m not gonna let him fall because of this. It’s been months of you both off missions and nothing is changing. “ That earned him another sharp glare, piercing green eyes locking onto the man as though she would pounce at any given moment. Hell, maybe she would. Natasha hadn’t quite decided yet. “ You’ve gotta get back on the field, but you won’t leave him like this. And I wouldn’t make you. But you have got to meet me half way. “

“ This isn’t right. None of the other shrinks did any good. They’re the reason he almost fucking threw himself off the damn balcony. “ The redhead growled as she resumed her pacing, more to keep herself occupied than anything else. If she concentrated too hard on the words that seemed to be spilling from her mouth she might end up throwing something at her CO, and that wouldn’t end well.

“ Professor Xavier is different, Natasha. You have to trust me on this. “

An exasperated sigh left her lips before she could stop herself, but Natasha was beyond caring. The two agents fell silent, the only sound coming from the woman’s footsteps as she continued back and forth through the room. Logically she knew Coulson would not have even considered bringing someone in if he did not believe they could make a difference. But the least he could have done was warn her first.

Though, Natasha would have barricaded the door and threatened to shoot anyone who stepped foot in the apartment, but that was beyond the point.

“ How much longer is this—“ The door swung open in the middle of Natasha’s question, closely followed by the whirring of the professor’s wheelchair as he entered the room. Coulson hurried over to close the door behind him as Xavier turned his gaze to the redhead, a pleasant smile on his face.

“ Forgive my rudeness, but Agent Coulson informed me that this was a rather urgent matter. “ He sounded so overly polite that it was mildly difficult for Natasha to remember that she did not in fact like him in the slightest, nor did she approve of his visit. “ You are Natasha Romanoff, correct? It’s a pleasure to meet you. “

“ How is he? “ She responded bluntly, her tone showing an obvious disapproval of the entire situation. If Xavier was offended, though, he did not show it, remaining calm and maintaining a pleasant tone in his response.

“ Agent Barton shows much potential. I believe he will make a full recovery, in time. “ The man glanced towards the door for a moment, a slight chuckle leaving his lips. “ He’s very spirited, isn’t he? “

“ How much time are we talking here, sir? “ Natasha skated over the light-hearted comment with ease, not caring that Coulson was glaring daggers at her for her behaviour.

“ Sooner than even he expects. “

“ Helpful. “

“ Sooner than either of you expect, should you continue aiding him. “

That caught her by surprise, enough so to wipe away whatever rude remark she had been planning next. Natasha had expected the man to at least know of her – no doubt Coulson had told him about her position, at least. That sort of comment, though? Not what she had been expecting. Not in the slightest.

“ Excuse me? “

“ Your assistance is the sole reason he has made it this far, Agent Romanoff. With time and patience on your part, he will return to the same man you once knew. “

“ He is still the same man I’ve always known, sir. “

“ All the more reason you are the right person to help him with his recovery. "

The air between the two was tense at best, though Xavier was clearly remaining as pleasant as he had when he’d arrived. Natasha could not decide whether or not to trust him, though. Whether or not it was worth it. She wanted to believe this man could have helped her partner, that this hadn’t been a complete waste of time. But Natasha had seen her fair share of bad doctors, of people who thought they could pull and pry and do whatever they wanted to a person’s mind. To pull them to pieces, if they saw fit, rather than putting them back together. And it was Natasha’s job to make sure that one way or another, Clint was not pulled apart anymore than he already had been.

“ He had asked for you as I left, Agent Romanoff. “ The professor held out his hand to her once more, the same sincere smile still on his face as he watched her. “ You mean a great deal to him. It’s a relief to see he has someone so reliable to help. “

The words likely should have been a relief, but they were like a knife to the woman’s gut. She knew better than anyone else that she was the least reliable character to count on, that her whole life spelled out just how unstable her personality was. That, despite the fact that she had every intention to stay by Clint until he was better, no one should expect her to.

The comment did, however, push her to reach out and shake his hand. She was sure that, if he had indeed caused her partner harm, Natasha could chase him down faster than he could be out of her reach. With a slight nod, Xavier turned the chair and made way for the door, Coulson following suit after shooting Natasha a you’re-going-to-get-in-trouble-if-you’re-not-careful expression. Natasha watched them for a moment, raising her eyebrows ever-so-slightly, before she hurried to the bedroom door.

With careful hands, she pushed it open, surprised to find that Clint was indeed awake and, somehow, more alert than he had been in months. Natasha made her way to the side of the bed, snagging the seat from against the wall that she would normally use and sitting it by the bed carefully, her eyes not leaving her partner.

Before she could so much as sit down, Clint turned his gaze to her and gave her a slight smile. The first in far too long.

“ Still alive and kicking? “ She said as she set herself down in the chair, still watching as the man struggled to shift himself up against the pillows that surrounded him. They gave him more than enough support, though, that he could at least somewhat sit up, keeping the two of them level. It was still a long way to a physical recovery, but the fact that Clint had not only healed to the point that he could shift himself, but that his mind was now stable enough to attempt it, was huge.

“ M’gettin’ there. Y’know, baby steps n’all. “ He laughed weakly in response, wincing slightly at the pain the movement bought. “ That your idea? The good doctor coming to visit? “

“ Nah, that was Coulson’s doing. I didn’t even know he was coming by until they turned up at the door, and Coulson gave me one of those looks. “ She smiled as a wave of recognition passed over Clint; they both knew that look all too well.

“ Well when I’m back in one piece I’ll buy him a new tie or something. “ Clint settled against the pillows with yet another wince, but one that was not as tortured as they usually were. One that showed he was still in pain, but something in his mind had changed. Something had switched over, as though it was a different kind of pain. Natasha didn’t comment on either his words or his actions, she simply continued to watch him, trying to pinpoint just what it was.

She knew, just as well as anyone else did, what Charles Xavier was famous for. But it didn’t seem as though he had pried, as though he had forced his way into Clint’s mind and stuck pieces back where they weren’t ready to go yet. If anything, it was the beginnings of Clint picking up a few pieces here and there on his own. Something he had hardly been ready to do for months.

Maybe the guy hadn’t been all that useless.

“ I’ll add it to the list of things to do. Are you up for some lunch? “

“ So long as you don’t try to force it down my throat again. “

“ Why, Clinton, I would never. “

\--

“ Agent Romanoff, it’s good to see you. “

Natasha held the door open as Professor Xavier entered the room, his wheelchair making the same slight whirring sound as it always did, the one she had grown accustomed to. It had been three months and six more visits since she had met the man, and it was safe to say she had warmed up to him when she realised his work was doing much more good than she could have ever hoped for.

“ And yourself, doc. Clint’s waiting for you, so I won’t get in your way—“

“ If you would wait for a moment, please. I had something to discuss with you. “

The man’s interruption surprised her as Natasha pushed the door shut, moving automatically along the various locks as her gaze turned to him. Xavier was watching her with the same patience as always, the same sincere smile and genuine consideration as he waited for her to finish, to settle and be ready for whatever news he was to give her.

“ With me? “ Natasha could not help but be baffled, confused as to just what he would want from her.

“ Yes, Agent. Please. “ Xavier gestured towards the couch before directing his chair towards it. The woman blinked for a moment before moving swiftly to the seat and sitting down, utterly blank but on edge as to just what it was he would want. “ I understand you have been taking responsibility for his recovery? “

“ I have. A few doctors from SHIELD have been in and out, but not many. They uh—“ Natasha paused for a moment, her confusion turning to amusement as she remembered the face of the first doctor in whose face she had slammed the door. “ They don’t quite meet the mark every time. A few have been let in, though. “

“ I see. “ Xavier chuckled at the reference, clearly understanding her intentions. “ And I understand you have seen more in the way of brutal wounds and injuries than most would have. “

“ I have. “ The question put her somewhat on edge. With a man with skills like Xavier’s, it was difficult not to wonder whether he had patiently waited for the information himself or if he had searched through her own mind for what could be useful. After the numerous times she had met him, though, Natasha trusted him enough to hope he did not paw through her memories without permission.

“ Then you understand that any standard human being should not be able to recover from the wounds he sustained in Budapest. “

The statement hit her hard, knocking the wind out of her lungs. For months now, Xavier had insisted Clint would recover. Natasha had SEEN his recovery with her own eyes. Was he now telling her that the SHIELD morons had been right? That he truly would not shoulder a bow again?

“ I don’t think you understand—“

“ My apologies, Agent Romanoff, but you may be the one misunderstanding. Not once did I lie when I said Agent Barton would recover. But that does not mean he is an ordinary human being. “

“ What, what else would he—“ The realisation hit her as she spoke, her brain kicking into gear. Xavier was an extremely strong mutant with high telepathic powers. One who could track down other mutants throughout the world.

One who must have been able to determine that Clint was, in fact, not entirely normal. 

“ You mean he’s—he’s like you? And the others at your school? “ Natasha asked in what she knew was a blank voice, but she could not help it. Alterations via science – the supersoldier serum that had been used all those years ago, the Soviet’s own version that had been given to her, the events that had lead to the creation of the Hulk – those she knew all about. But natural mutations such as those in Xavier’s system, she had yet to fully experience.

“ Not to the same degree. Clint Barton has a minor mutation; nothing that would give him powers such as my own or my students, but enough to give him an enhanced system. Specifically, enhanced healing. That mutation is the reason he will make an almost full recovery from his wounds. “

Natasha leaned back on the couch, taking the information in. Understanding what it meant. That her partner was not, in fact, just a stubborn pain in the ass. That he indeed had something to keep him going. A little extra to protect him.

“ Does he know? “

“ I have not yet told him, and I do not recommend that you do, either. He needs to keep a firm grasp on that stubbornness, that will to survive. That, more than anything, is what will keep him most safe outside those doors. “

“ But it’s his body, doc. He should know. “

“ Which is why I am giving you this information, Agent. “

Silence fell between them, thick and heavy, full of a weight Natasha hadn’t been expecting when she awoke that day. Clint had always had more will to fight than Natasha had expected. More of an urge to do what he believed was right, and to be the best while doing it. And maybe she didn’t know why, maybe she didn’t know the story behind it all yet, but there was something that made him the way he was. But telling him something like that, telling him that his survival comes down to a twist in his genes rather than his own stubborn will to get the hell through this. A will that was coming back bit by bit, more and more, ever since Xavier’s first visit.

“ You’re doing good for him, you know. “ She mumbled somewhat grudgingly. Natasha doesn’t like this, not at all. Lies and deceit, she’d been living in them her whole life. A world of shadows and deflection, of hiding. But she’d had so few chances to step outside of that life, to give someone a truth they deserved purely because she cared about them enough to make sure they know what they should, that suddenly the prospect of holding this seemed like it could be too much.

It’s a chance she had to take, though. For Clint, if for nothing else.

“ I like to think I am of help here, or I would not have returned. “ Xavier replied with that same soft smile that brings up the wrinkles around his eyes, genuine and honest. Natasha didn’t trust many smiles. Smiles mask far too much, she’d learned that long ago. This smile, though, was one she was slowly learning to have faith in.

\--

“ Woah! Ease up, Barton! “

A somewhat deranged laugh echoed through the apartment, one of the few since Natasha had found him sprawled on the floor in front of the balcony so long ago. Back then, Natasha had feared she would never hear him laugh, never see him smile, never see a sliver of joy on his face again. That he would make another break for the balcony, that one day she would find him broken and shattered on the cold ground outside, the life taken from him - or, whatever life had been left in him after what they’d put him through.

Now, though, he was laughing. He was smiling, small and shaky and maybe a little broken, but a smile all the same. Even as Natasha clutched onto him to try and keep him upright, even through the pain that was no doubt shooting through his hip as he went through his daily exercises to re-strengthen his muscles, Clint was still smiling.

“ I’ll ease up when’m dead, Romanoff. “ Clint drawled - and Natasha was not about to say it wasn’t nice to hear that again - as he tried to hold his own weight. His body trembled with the effort for a moment, a hand clinching around Natasha’s forearm for support despite himself, and she could see that more of his weight was on his left leg rather than his right, but he was upright. He was standing.

Standing.

They’d come a long way over the course of ten months. A world of suffering and screaming, days stretched out of empty, hopeless silence, and others packed full of agony and nightmares and desperate begging for it to be over. Days that had broken Natasha’s heart time and time again, and had almost broken her spirit.

Thankfully, neither had given up. And it all paid off when Clint took a step. Small, sliding, unsure, but a step all the same. Natasha felt her heart leap into her chest as his foot shuffled forward into another step, and she could see he was sweating from the effort, from biting back the pain, but this was more physical progress than Clint had taken in months.

When his muscles failed him and the pain was too much, Natasha was there for Clint to latch onto, and with small steps she carried him back to the couch. The surface of the furniture was covered in ridiculous squishy, fluffy, and absurdly comfortable cushions, making it more than easy for Clint to sink into when Natasha set him down. “ I got something for you. “ She told him as she straightened up, hands on her hips as Clint shifted on the couch, wincing a little at the pain in his hip, in his shoulder, on the scars that will never really heal.

“ Didn’t know you were one for gifts, sweetheart. “ He flashed his partner a grin, reminiscent of the days before Budapest when neither of them had known what lay ahead. And it was good to see it again; Natasha couldn’t help but smile as she pulled a case out from under the coffee table. Long and sturdy, clearly SHIELD equipment, it was more than familiar to them both, and she saw as Clint’s eyes lit up in surprise.

“ I’m not. It’s not a gift, really. I’m just.. Returning it. “ She shrugged as she flipped the latches on the case and lifted the lid away from Clint, giving him a perfect view of the bow he held so much faith in. The weapon that had been an extension of Clint’s arm for who knew how long. The piece of equipment that would, no matter what, be something Clint would never let go of.

“ Really pulling the stops for me, huh? “ He murmured as he leaned forward, taking a deep breath, absorbing the familiar scent of the case, of the bow it held, of the homemade wax stored away in the case with it.

“ You’re my partner. You’d do the same for me. “ Their eyes met again, and Natasha could see the change in his gaze, the relief, the joy, the anxiety to get back in the field, the need to feel the weight of the bow in his hands again. And it was the first time she was truly glad for a choice she had made on her own. For a choice that had held no weight but her own conscience, her own wishes.

Saving this man, the man who had given Natasha a new life, a new chance, a new shot at something better, had been the first truly good thing she’d ever done. Not for the agency, not for the country or the world, but for them both. For both their sakes. And she was sure it was one thing she would never forget.


End file.
